Dog hair is a fact of my life. Long white dog hair, courtesy of my trusty pup, Eloise. It is in my carpet and in my purse, in my closet and occasionally in my refrigerator. I am used to it. The people around me are used to it and graciously pick the strays off of me when they spot them. I do what I can to get rid of it, but she always makes more. Always.
I try to brush her every day and she gladly gives up mounds of the lovely white fluff. I have made paper from it and used it to stuff her bed. Several weeks ago, I put a big poof of her hair out on the porch. Within a few minutes, the robin who lives at my house grabbed a big bunch and flew off. Two other birds joined her and they all made several more trips until they had taken the whole lot. I didn't think that much about it after that and headed off to work.
In the last few days the air around my back porch has been punctuated by the sweet noise of baby birds calling for food. Lots and lots of baby birds.
This morning as I was putting my tender young tomato plants on the porch for the day, I saw our robin. She had a long white hair stuck to her tail. I heard the call of her babies and I knew that somewhere in the eaves of my house, a few naked baby robins sit cozy in a big tuft of white hair.